Modus Operandi of a Mastermind II
by Lewd Concubine
Summary: Sequel to Modus Operandi of a Mastermind. God vs. Perfection. Aizen vs. Szayel Aporro. Uryuu caught in between. Both have their schemes, but only one will triumph in the end. Szayel/Uryuu main, Aizen/Szayel, mentions of Ryuuken/Uryuu, Aizen/Uryuu, Byakuya/Ryuuken and others. Dark, dub-con, h/c.


This story is the sequel to _Modus Operandi of a Mastermind_ which can be found in my profile. It is not necessary to read both to understand either. _However_, the sequel loses much of its depth without prior or recent knowledge of the original.

**Modus Operandi of a Mastermind II**

**by: Ryoko (Lewd Concubine)**

"Uryuu-kun is yours as long as no harm comes to him."

Aizen didn't lift one magnanimous finger from the arm of his throne, but the slap in Szayel's face was even more real than if it had actually been physical. Szayel let none of this show. Instead, he smiled and bowed low.

"Thank you, Aizen-sama. It is a privilege and an honor to be given such a task." Szayel didn't look up to see the effect of his honey sweet words on his master. He did not look to the older Quincy specimen either, though he dearly wanted to glare. The unbearable burden of unsatisfied curiosity now placed on Szayel was all his fault.

After a sufficient pause, he raised his head. Aizen smiled. The bastard. He knew exactly how Szayel felt. This, perhaps, being the reason for such a punishment.

Regardless, Szayel would find and exploit the silver lining in this cloud until nothing remained. The Quincy was his now and he would use him as he saw fit. The thought bolstered his spirits and rendered his smile genuine. Aizen's smile stretched in turn, almost as if he knew Szayel's thoughts. Although he liked to think otherwise, Szayel accepted that he probably did. His comfort lay in the fact that no other could boast the same. It afforded Aizen a measure of respect in his mind he accorded few others. However, that did not mean he liked him or enjoyed living under his tightening constraints. As a natural Arrancar, Szayel never had a need for Aizen or the Hougyoku's imperfect tranformative powers. His decision to serve was for his own continued existence. Few stood against Aizen and none lasted. Szayel was nothing if not a survivor.

"I entrust him to you, then."

Szayel bowed and held it once more before turning to collect his reward. He ignored the usual envious tittering from the surrounding Arrancar in favor of examining his newest acquisition. The boy was pale, but to his credit he betrayed none of the apprehension common to his inferior species. Nor did he look to his father or at Aizen. His hard gaze was all for Szayel.

The first stirrings of renewed interest began at this. Fortunate that he would be able to recover _some_ of the data lost in the destruction of his last laboratory. Silver lining, indeed.

"Let's go," the Quincy said, when he got close enough. A nearby Arrancar snickered. Szayel paid him no heed.

He was, for the most part, amused.

"My, my, so eager. I trust, then, that I can expect this level of cooperation in the future."

The boy bristled at the words.

"There is no point in dallying here. I have things I would rather be doing as, I'm sure, do you." The Quincy turned, cape fluttering dramatically, after he finished speaking. He headed toward the door.

Oh, but this was a level of stubbornness hitherto unwitnessed. Szayel would enjoy breaking him when and where he might.

The first thing Szayel did upon stepping inside his lab was fetch the collar he prepared for just such an eventuality. It was nothing more than a simple band of flexible, white metal imbued with the power to suffocate reiatsu on his whim. It also had a built in tracking device.

Szayel held it out to his newest specimen as his scanners ran diagnostics on him. He did not take it, but instead fixed Szayel with a glare.

"I am not a pet to be collared." The Quincy stood straighter and glared, if possible, a little harder.

"There are other ways to ensure your complete cooperation, Quincy." Szayel still held his hand out, but not for long. "I am sure you do not imagine I will tolerate your insubordination."

This was to be the first of many challenges, but already it seemed the boy caught on. Already, he learned.

One pale, long-fingered hand reached across the chasm between them to pluck the metal from between Szayel's outstretched fingers. Szayel's smile was subdued, but not for long. After the Quincy reached up and clasped the metal around his own neck, Szayel turned ostensibly to study one of his myriad panels.

"This doesn't change anything." The boy's voice was no less certain, but Szayel knew the truth beneath all that bravado.

He faced his newest acquisition with no denial on his lips. Let the boy keep his illusions of identity and freedom a while longer. He rather liked their little game.

"Shall we start off slow, hmm?" He asked this with complete disregard for whatever answer the boy would give and, indeed, continued without enough of a pause to allow one in the first place. "Today, a complete physical examination. Tomorrow-"

"I'm not to be harmed." His back was as straight and stiff as his grimace.

"If I am to be held responsible for your continued health and well being I must first be assured of it. The preliminary scan suggests you may harbor some arthritic tendencies, no surprise given the lengths to which you push your human body, and-" He paused for nothing more than dramatic effect. "Cancer. I'm sure you realize I cannot allow such a mutation to manifest while you are under my care. Additionally, there are a few more necessary corrections to your genetic structure that will need attending to. Soon." He finished with a flourish of the hand, his gesture both wide and bold. Assured.

A long pause followed his words. It was easy to see the Quincy struggle for control against the inevitable.

"Szayel Aporro." It was a start.

"Szayel Aporro-_sama_." He wagged his finger at him as if he were a petulant child. This not being far from the truth.

"Such extreme measures are not necessary or beneficial, Szayel Aporro."

"Szayel Aporro-sama," he said, again. "And, yes, they are. I realize the concept is beyond the comprehension of one so intellectually stunted. Thus, I will overlook your blatant disrespect and lack of gratitude for the moment. Now." Here he paused to snap his fingers twice. The current incarnation of Lumina bounced over. "You will follow Lumina and submit to the examination." He left the threat of the collar unsaid. His smirk was sufficient enough.

Though he shook with rage, the boy kept his calm until Szayel finished speaking. Remarkable restraint from what Szayel witnessed of him.

"Your technique is too obvious for words, Szayel Aporro. Delude yourself, but you don't fool me. I am only doing this because I want to know what the last monster put inside me. Unless, of course, that is too complicated for you." The Quincy smirked right back at him and though Szayel knew it was all bravado, but it still irritated him.

It seemed the bad joke continued on without reaching the final punch line. Nonetheless, he kept his cool.

"Hardly a challenge to accomplish such a minor feat. In fact, the preliminary scan was all I needed. Now, go on. You've wasted enough of my valuable time." His tone was dry and detached. His eyes suggested a similar mood.

"We'll see," the boy said. Again, Szayel bristled at the challenge. Yet he said no more, only went with Lumina. That he would submit at all was certainly a change. It seemed the Quincy would pick his battles. The thought pleased Szayel for he was always excited to see a fool finally _learn_. Perhaps, just perhaps, this one didn't need as much education as most.

Five minutes later and he was ready to recall these formerly high thoughts. Yes, the boy did go with Lumina, but he refused to be touched by anyone but Szayel. It was in good taste. However, Szayel had no time for the complaints of a mere specimen. Irritation bloomed anew at the boy and at Aizen for adding the unfortunate no harm clause to his responsibilities.

Szayel rearranged the hallways to shorten this distance and then stalked toward the room with a kind of grace that could only be dubbed feline.

The Quincy sat on one of the examination tables. He was still in the same outfit despite the command to strip he would have been given.

"Good," he said, when Szayel approached. "I was beginning to think you would keep me waiting."

"Keep you waiting." Szayel's hum of amusement belied his increasing irritation. "Nothing could be further from the truth."

The Quincy stood and began to unzip his outfit.

"I'm curious, Quincy. You'll strip for me, but not for my Fraccion. Is that supposed to mean something, I wonder." Szayel's smile might have been flirty, but he was all about humiliation in this moment. He recalled, with glee, the boy's reaction to some of his abilities.

"I have a name, Szayel Aporro." Two glowing spots appeared on the Quincy's cheeks as he folded his pants. "You are the one who wanted to examine me. You should be the one to do so. Unless you're saying I am an _unworthy_ task. I'd be happy to tell Aizen how you feel if so."

Szayel's blood ran hot and cold at the same time. Yet he was not to be beaten in a trifling game of words.

"I can assign you a number if you'd prefer. Nothing more." His smile devolved into a smirk. "As for Aizen-sama, doubtless there are many things of which I should inform him. Shall we start with your continued insubordination? Perhaps he would relax his rules for me."

"That would be admitting you are not up to the challenge, Szayel Aporro. Surely, that isn't the case." The boy stood tall despite his nakedness. The rosy flush creeping up his neck belied his confident words though.

"Your attempts at provocation will not attain the results you so clearly desire, Quincy." Szayel's exploring, lingering gaze was not altogether clinical. This done on purpose to inspire discomfort-one of the myriad areas in which he excelled. "The opinions of others do not concern me in the least."

It worked. Though the boy glared, he also shifted so his naked groin wasn't immediately visible. "Your defense is weak at best, Szayel Aporro."

"Lie down," Szayel said, instead of dignifying that with a response.

The Quincy sat instead, his posture suggestive of royalty. Just before Szayel opened his mouth, he smirked and finally obeyed. Szayel smirked back, his eyes narrowed. He would take his time breaking this one. Oh, yes. A truly slow and poisonous interest began in Szayel's mind at this latest insubordination. Things would not end well for the Quincy no matter the no harm clause. Szayel would personally make sure of it. If nothing else, with psychological damage alone he would destroy him in the end.

But only after extracting everything of value from him.

The thought made his smirk grow. In turn, despite his very best efforts no doubt, the boy looked a little less sure of himself.

"First," Szayel said, as if nothing had happened. "The preliminaries." He offered no further explanation for the sophisticated biometric scanner that descended from the ceiling. It resembled an eyeball due equally to its functionality and Szayel's aesthetics. The machine hung suspended on its strong cord over the boy's face. Its iris dilated and a pink laser-like light streamed out as the scan began.

Szayel didn't watch the scanner, but rather his subject. The Quincy's abdominal muscles betrayed his fear by jumping. His heartbeat was elevated as well. Yet his face was calm and stoic as the biometric reader continued scanning him. Chimes announced the data flooding in, but Szayel paid them no heed either. Later. For now, he drank in the boy's every reaction personally.

Szayel splayed long fingers over his abdomen when the scan finished.

"What are you doing?" The boy's brows pinched together and the corner of his lips twitched.

"I keep some very sensitive equipment at hand, you might say." Szayel lowered said appendage as he spoke until it hovered mere centimeters above his twitching flesh. He then began to palpate his abdomen as he had with countless specimens.

The boy sucked in a breath and then relaxed. His gaze lost just the slightest bit of its sharpness.

Szayel held back a malicious smile as he continued his work. The rest of the exam proceeded just as smooth. When all was said and done, Szayel understood much of the relationship between the father and the son.

Time passed. There were many tests and exams, but rather than show reluctance or fear, the boy embraced each one and continued to question Szayel at every turn. It became, as Szayel was to find, a continual source of irritation.

Few dared question his genius. Only one lived to do it _repeatedly_.

It was four months before he allowed himself to realize, upon doing a quick calculation, that the boy occupied a solid thirty-percent of his time. To think, one-third of his precious time-never mind that Szayel was eternal-dominated by this one tiny pursuit.

Three things held Szayel back from slaying him for his impertinence. Aizen for one. True, Szayel had enough data now to not only clone the boy, but to produce a reasonable facsimile of his personality. It would be easy to fool everyone. Except for Aizen and perhaps the father, of course. Secondly, Szayel still had more tests to run. Nevermind that he could always produce another test, and another if it proved necessary. Finally, and most annoyingly, there was the fact that the Quincy was right about everything. He only made mistakes for lack of knowledge and when presented with such was an annoyingly quick study. Szayel couldn't help the niggling feeling that this was familiar somehow. Yet he refused introspection on the subject for assurity in his own infallible intellect. For though the boy was smart, a prodigy even, Szayel Aporro Granz was perfection. And perfection didn't need someone to double-check his work. Ever. It was always flawless the first time thank-you-very-much, as he told the boy once. To which he received some reply or another about an island. Contradictory and absurd. Simply absurd.

Szayel ground his teeth at the thought yet the major source of his ire didn't seem to notice. The Quincy continued to fire arrows in a near blinding array of speed. When he finished obliterating the targets, he returned to the ground to smirk at Szayel. Smirk. At him. As if he'd done something amazing. The insufferable boy.

Such an obstinate being needed correction, and who better for the task than Szayel?

"I've decided. You'll be assisting me." Szayel faced him with his arms loosely crossed over his chest. "Nothing too important, you understand. But one must find a way for you to be useful in actuality, hmmm?" He tapped his index finger on his arm and offered his most bright smile. Anyone who really knew him would be intimidated. Not so, this one.

"I wasn't aware you were in need of my assistance, Szayel Aporro." His tone was dry and even. Like father, like son from what little Szayel could ascertain.

His bright smile never faltered, but his left eyebrow did twitch a fraction higher.

"My dear boy, you flatter yourself. You are a resource and I will utilize you as I see fit. I am sure you are quite up to the more...menial tasks I had in mind. If they prove too much of a challenge, we can find something simpler."

"Whatever you say." The Quincy smirked while Szayel beamed and thought of a myriad ways to make the boy's already dreary circumstances even more dismal.

The first thing Szayel had him do was clean the things not even his wonderful Fraccion liked attending to. Starting with the used specimen cages, tanks, and tables along with several industrial showers. Szayel was finally able to get back to his real work, but it seemed only a moment passed before the Quincy returned, smirking and arms crossed.

"Really, Szayel Aporro. I thought you had higher standards than that."

Szayel swiveled in his chair slow enough to make his ire known.

"Your Fraccion are utterly useless, did you know? I'm amazed you made it this far on your own." The Quincy continued as if Szayel's frosty gaze wasn't boring into his own. "I can't imagine why you stunted them to that degree. It's ridiculous what they can't do."

Szayel crossed his legs. "The famous Quincy pride never does quit, does it? But very well, I am pleased you seem to have found such a fitting niche. I'll be sure to assign you similar tasks," Szayel said, instead of offering a rebuttal. He laced his fingers together over his knee and swung his foot.

"Like I said, I wonder how you got along without me." The Quincy still smirked.

Szayel assigned him to clean the rest of his laboratories, everything save for his private chambers and secret rooms. It was an enormous expanse and yet the boy was back within the hour. Upon review of the recording, Szayel discovered he used hirenkyaku the whole time. His once thoroughly clean labs were now immaculate. He could grant the boy points for ambition and efficiency, despite the obvious motivation. If the Quincy had that much to prove, what else might he be capable of? Or, rather, what more use might Szayel get out of him?

He kept the boy busy with drudgery for another week and would have continued with this test of endurance if he hadn't come to Szayel one day and said, "funny, I thought you knew the value of your resources." Szayel couldn't back down from _that_ challenge. He educated the boy on the use of several of his machines and had him do the maintenance work. They ran as well as if Szayel saw to them himself. He assigned the boy more, and then even more. It wasn't long before the Quincy was able to fine-tune every one of Szayel's machines save his most precious, those stored away in that part of the lab to which only he had access.

Some of his machinery had always been too delicate for even his most well trained Fraccion to touch. Now, though, Szayel found himself with more free time. The corresponding rise in his productivity filled him with a hitherto unknown mixture of surprise and longing. Szayel wasn't grateful, not exactly. The Quincy belonged to him, after all. He would do as he was told. But for the first time, Szayel saw what it could be like to have an unmodified Fraccion of his very own. In other words, one not reimagined to serve a specific purpose. One who just might be intelligent and ambitious enough to allow Szayel to climb to ever greater heights of productivity. It was a tantalizing thought.

First though, he would have to be trained and even before that, tested.

Soon after, Szayel kept him tuning equipment while he engaged in an autopsy. The subject was none other than the former Quinta, Cirucci Sanderwicci. He resurrected her along with the all the others through his genius, but the boy couldn't know that. The once bold Cirucci seldom left Tres Cifras these days.

Szayel removed the Hollow mask first, and then shaved the head. He was halfway through the skull with a bone saw when he heard the clattering sound of the Quincy dropping a screwdriver behind him. He turned his head with exaggerated flair to regard the boy.

"Are you quite finished? This is delicate work, you are aware." Nothing could have ruffled Szayel's steady hand, but the boy didn't know that either.

"You're a monster." The Quincy stared at him as if he was just now really seeing him. And maybe he was. It made no difference.

"Disappointing. You are-"

"Excused? No, I don't need to look away. I'm not weak, Szayel Aporro."

"Szayel Aporro-_sama_ to you, Numeros."

"I'm not an Arrancar." This said with such venom that it almost made him smile.

"You are my Fraccion in everything but name, yet you would deny an elevation in your station. Interesting."

"It isn't an elevation." The hatred in the air was palpable.

"Still so much to learn, my dear Quincy. Perhaps I overestimated you."

"I wonder sometimes, Szayel Aporro, if you are at all capable of winning an argument using only your logic and reason. It's the weakness of your kind, you know. You're not as evolved as you think."

Szayel looked down and realized he sawed right through the skull and into the specimen's brain.

When he was done, he left the used corpse for the Quincy to clean up. It was not a very productive study. Everything the boy said was an egregious falsehood, but he was still bothered. The very fact that he had been bothered in the first place made him even more upset. It cut down on his productivity and dulled any pleasure he might otherwise have found in the exercise. A truly wasted effort. He finished much sooner than he might have otherwise.

When Szayel returned to check on the boy's progress, he found the body already sewn up and composed. Cirucci resembled herself once more, albeit in calm repose. He came closer and ran his hand down one of the incisions. A mounting sense of anticipation made his hand slightly unsteady.

"What marvelous stitches," he said, before he could regain control of his excitement. "They're almost as good as my own."

Unfortunate that the Quincy was around to hear it.

"Why, thank you, Szayel Aporro-sama."

Szayel pivoted on his heel and glared. He took a breath, opened his mouth, closed it, and then left with only a simple "don't get too cocky."

After that, Szayel made him assist during most of his experiments. The boy was still squeamish about unwilling specimens and refused to have anything to do with them, but he would learn in time. Szayel would make sure of it, for he would never allow potential to be wasted.

One year into Uryuu's captivity and they could be found working together almost all the time if one were brave enough to come see. If the few who fit this criterion gathered their courage, they might find Szayel and Uryuu bent over microscopes together or bickering about how best to fine tune DNA scoping equipment. The Quincy still irritated him, but Szayel increasingly came to accept it as background noise to an otherwise productive and fruitful working relationship.

Then there was the fact that most of the time Szayel enjoyed arguing with someone who could actually almost keep up with him. However, sometimes the boy, or 'One-Eighth' as Szayel finally deigned to call him, could be too obstinate for his own good. He came to learn that this was a hereditary trait. It didn't excuse it, of course. But this did make him easier to understand.

"Let me see." Szayel grabbed for One-Eighth's arm, but the boy jerked it out of his reach.

"No. You'll just make it worse."

"It will become an impediment and we both know it. If you'll just let me-"

"I said I'm fine." He resumed typing, but it was clear from his halting, shivering movement, short breath, and sweaty forehead that he was in pain.

"Come here, One-Eighth. I'm sure you don't believe you can go on this way."

"You're aware I hate that name." One-Eighth's mouth turned down into a grimace as he swiveled to face Szayel. "If you must know, I've already used a healing serum on it."

"Clearly, it is not enough. Are you sure you used the right one? Was it the 1Q84 or A1 series?"

The boy scowled.

"Of course I used the right one."

Szayel held his hand out and lifted an eyebrow. After a few sullen moments, One-Eighth sighed and handed his arm over for inspection. Szayel unbuttoned the sleeve and gently rolled the fabric back. He started at the sight of the arm. Everything was black and blue. No signs of healing yet. Szayel blanched as he thought about how it must have looked before treatment.

"Take off your clothes," he said, and there was nothing kind in his tone. One-Eighth sensed his mood and obeyed without complaint.

The rest of the boy's body was the same. Szayel's stomach sank as he assessed the damage. He reached out to touch an area on One-Eighth's posterior and the boy flinched. It was worse than anything his remarkable imagination could provide. There was a moment of him staring at One-Eighth and One-Eighth staring back before Szayel was able to speak.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"You'll just make it worse."

Later, the corpses of every Numeros who dared raise a hand against his prized Fraccion lay strewn through the hallways of Las Noches and Szayel almost felt better.

He came back covered in blood and filled with renewed purpose.

"I told you."

Szayel took in his Fraccion's sad, weary gaze but did not understand it. Nor did he understand or wish to explore any motives behind his abrupt retaliation. Szayel prided himself on being above such things. He was a scientist, not a fighter.

"It will all be in vain unless I do this," Szayel said, instead of contemplating that particular enigma.

"Do what?"

"They must understand who you belong to."

"I don't belong to anyone." There was a tired edge to One-Eighth's voice that cut short the reply on Szayel's tongue.

"Nonetheless, it must be done."

"What must be done?" A little flair of the old flippant attitude resurfaced and Szayel smiled.

"First, we'll need to switch out your collar." Diagnostics reveal someone else is able to tamper with it."

"What else?" One-Eighth didn't miss a beat.

"I am going to brand you so they may see." Szayel held up a hand to ward off the expected protest. "Don't worry. I won't mark your face. But it must be done."

"Don't be ridiculous." Ah, and there was the familiar heat of One-Eighth's anger. The body healed, but the spirit often took a slower recovery.

"I am only informing you in advance as a courtesy." They both knew he could and would accomplish his goal by any means necessary.

"It can be undone?" The words came after a protracted silence in which the Quincy's fisted hands shook and he kept his head down.

"Yes, of course."

There was another long silence. Finally, One-Eighth met his gaze with determination in his eyes while blood from Szayel's hair dripped on the floor between them.

"Fine."

It was easy enough to switch the old collar for a new one. He'd been meaning to do that for a while now and already had the replacement ready. Szayel washed and returned to brand his prized Fraccion when he was finished.

"Well?"

Szayel brushed his freshly dried hair out of his eyes and smiled.

"Patience, Fraccion."

"I'm not your Fraccion."

"You still persist with this?" Szayel smiled again and stroked a finger down One-Eighth's pristine neck. The boy soon jerked away.

"Don't touch me unnecessarily."

"You flatter yourself." Szayel prodded the area again and nodded. "Turn your head away."

One-Eighth made no move to obey.

"Why?"

"It will present a larger area with which I can work." Szayel's answer was free from the scorn it might have held in the past. He murmured in approval when the boy finally complied.

"I still can't believe you're doing this. No, actually I can. That's the sad part about you, Szayel Aporro."

"Necessities must be observed." Szayel ignored everything else in favor of injecting One-Eighth with a local anesthetic. He waited a sufficient period and then thumped him on the neck. "Feel anything?"

One-Eighth shook his head.

Szayel brought his hand to his mouth and bit the glove so that he could remove it. He set this aside and stared for a moment longer. A heady sense of anticipation drowned all other thoughts in his mind. Szayel focused a portion of his reiatsu in a very localized area at the tip of his index finger. He trailed it down One-Eighth's neck in the first shape of his design. His reiatsu burned away the skin and revealed the truth.

Szayel stepped back and let out a breath he didn't know he held as he admired the slender numeral one etched into the boy's flesh. To his credit, One-Eighth didn't so much as flinch when Szayel returned to his work. Soon, the slightly modified slash was also set forever in place. Szayel admired this as well and then returned for the numeral eight. When it was all done, Szayel took another moment to survey the whole thing. He branded all of his Fraccion, but he had never done it himself. Szayel had a machine for the purpose. Of course, Szayel supposed that One-Eighth deserved the honor for being his favorite Fraccion and, indeed, the best he had ever had. The others served him loyally, but One-Eighth was different by nature and represented a chapter in Szayel's life hitherto unexplored. He quite enjoyed the new territory.

"Szayel Aporro. Are you going to stand there all day or are you going to get me a mirror?"

No one else would dare talk to him like this, but Szayel found that he liked it sometimes. It was still novelty, of course. He knew that anything new was precious to him. Yet the fact remained.

"Patience, they say." Szayel pushed a button and a hidden panel in the wall folded back. He rummaged around and found the correct healing salve. Szayel applied it to the burn and let it heal to a scar before he allowed One-Eighth to see.

The Quincy was pale and a little sweaty from the nerves since there was no possibility of the procedure having hurt him. Szayel saw to every aspect of his comfort, after all.

"One me eight? Or is it a cross?"

"What do you think?" The symbol between the two numbers was indeed the katakana for 'me.' However, in reality it was a nice little detail symbolizing the boy's heritage that Szayel managed to work into the design. One-Eighth was his Quincy Fraccion. None could dispute it now with the mark adorning his neck.

"I've seen enough." The Quincy's tone was deadpan and his eyes held a strange anxiety Szayel didn't understand.

"You will grow accustomed to it." It was his design and handiwork, after all. No imperfections present.

"No, I won't." The words were quiet enough that he almost missed them. "I'm no one's Fraccion. I'm not even an Arrancar to begin with, Szayel Aporro."

Szayel might have said something to that, but One-Eighth didn't give him a chance. He was gone in a blur, leaving Szayel with nothing but the clean up.

It wasn't too long after that Szayel felt the familiar burn in the mark of his rank. Aizen summoned him. The longer he waited, the worse the pain. Szayel usually enjoyed this sort of thing. Today, he acquiescenced right away.

Aizen sat on the enormous couch Szayel designed for him. Gin and Tousen flanked him. Not a good sign.

Szayel bowed low and offered his usual obsequious platitudes.

"Octava, rise and join us." Aizen bid him closer with the crook of a finger.

Definitely not a good sign.

Szayel bowed once more and rose.

"It is an honor, Aizen-sama." Szayel strode toward his master-in-name with every outward confidence. Inside, he seethed. Whatever came next wouldn't be good. Of that, he was certain.

"Tell me, how is our dear Uryuu-kun?" Aizen smiled and smiled.

Hours and hours later, Szayel returned to his laboratory battered, bruised, and stained. They attempted to humiliate him this day, but instead he took something much more valuable from them. Something he always dreamed of acquiring. Something that would further his plans above anything else.

Data, precious data on all three of them. If he had known killing one of Barragan's Fraccion was all it took to provoke Aizen to this, he would have done it years ago.

Szayel bypassed his shower for now and headed straight for his private laboratory. He stripped as he went and handed his clothes to various Fraccion for analysis. Then he summoned One-Eighth who was really the only one he wanted to see right now.

"I thought we were done for the night. Why do you need..." The boy's voice died out when he caught sight of Szayel's discolored flesh. It was, after all, much the same in appearance as One-Eighth's after all those Numeros-and Barragan's Fraccion-caught up with him.

"What happened?"

"Help me onto the table." Szayel felt light-headed and giddy from both his wounds and the masochistic sense of euphoria that only sex with a true sadist could provide. He lost a lot of blood and most of the rest was caught in bruises marring his once pristine flesh. The supposed punishment served only to provide him with a weapon for Aizen's destruction and Szayel's ultimate rise to power. He wanted this not for power's sake, but for the release it represented. Szayel longed, more than anything, to be free from all constraints.

One-Eighth hesitated only for a moment. Then he was by the exhausted Szayel's side helping him onto the examination table. Scanners, probes, and collection agents descended to gather all the evidence en masse. Szayel noticed, through it all, One-Eighth's eyes pausing briefly where they should not. He filed this bit of information away, but said nothing of it. This trivial moment of physical inability was already worth it.

"Are you going to tell me what happened?" One-Eighth asked when Szayel's beloved equipment finished working.

Szayel lay still and didn't answer, for once.

The next few days passed in a blur of frenzied excitement. Szayel couldn't help but think: had this all been a little too easy? Szayel never mentioned the fact he kept spectral parasites in his own body to collect any valuable data from his system, but he did wonder. Aizen and Gin were very careful not to ingest any part of him. It was as if they suspected his abilities. If they knew about them, there was no telling what other knowledge they possessed. Moreover, it was a bold and confident move on Aizen's part to take someone of Szayel's caliber to bed in the first place. He had to have a plan. Or maybe that was what Aizen expected him to think.

When it came down to it, Szayel would have to rely on the cold, hard data to determine his next move. So far, his ingenious instruments provided him with accurate reiatsu maps for all. The concentration now was on removing any molecular ambiguity to focus on full scale DNA mapping. Szayel expected to be able to grow clones within the month at this rate.

It was three more days before he received the next summon. Szayel appeared before Aizen and, again, was subjected to the same mistreatment albeit this time only at Aizen's hand and in his company.

Szayel in turn summoned One-Eighth to help him repeat the process of collection once more. The boy wasn't as easy going this time.

"Are you going to tell me what's going on now?"

Szayel stood on shaky legs for One-Eighth had, as yet, refused to help him onto the examination table.

"It's not your place to know, Fraccion. Now, _assist_ me."

One-Eighth said no more after that, just gazed at him with something like pity underneath all that affronted pride.

Szayel discovered from his fresh data that his lover for the evening hadn't been Aizen after all. It seemed his would be master enjoyed the use of surrogates quite a bit. In this case, Ichimaru Gin. Szayel privately wondered who exactly he had been to Gin. He also couldn't help but suspect his former results. Of course, that could all have been part of Aizen's plan as well.

It was a good thing Szayel Aporro Granz enjoyed a challenge.

Only two days passed before Aizen summoned him again. It was a hitherto unknown person with him this time, one Kuchiki Byakuya. Aizen's only involvement was in the sadistic beating and humiliation he forced Szayel to endure at his hand. Again, Szayel wondered whom this Kuchiki Byakuya thought he was with. It surely hadn't been him.

"You can't keep letting him do this to you," One-Eighth said, as he helped Szayel onto the table. Szayel was more in control of his faculties this time, but he still enjoyed the assistance.

"You think I don't know what's going on here and act as if I haven't planned accordingly. Aizen-_sama_ left me to die as he left the others to die. If it hadn't been for an experiment of mine, I might be the only Espada remaining now, maybe even the only Arrancar. And now this. I perceive he is trying to provoke me, but it will not work." Szayel slumped on the table and let his head loll as his equipment moved over his neck. "Not yet. I won't move until I'm certain."

"That's what all this is for." One-Eighth's voice went soft. His lips twitched into the hint of a smile. It was the last thing Szayel saw before the scanner descended to check his Hollow mask. "I understand now, Szayel Aporro."

Szayel wondered how much he really did.

Aizen soon made these encounters into daily occurrences. The person with him always seemed to be Aizen, but the data revealed otherwise. Often it was Gin, and sometimes Kuchiki Byakuya. Even more occasionally, it was Ishida Ryuuken. Szayel took to making modifications to his own body to facilitate better collection methods. He coated his body both inside and out with special spectral parasites. Whenever anyone of real substance touched him, they infected the person.

Szayel didn't trust his physical senses. However, he had great faith in his machines.

He was busy pondering that faith one day when a new summons came. Both he and One-Eighth were to report to Aizen's chambers that night. Szayel wanted to kill the fool messenger for this even though it wasn't his fault. There was no time for a lengthy conversation or many warnings about what would happen. Aizen didn't tolerate tardiness. Szayel dropped everything just so he would have enough time to gather the boy in the first place.

"Whatever you do," he hissed to One-Eighth before they left, "don't say anything. Not even to your father or me. Not even if we return to the lab are you to say anything. Not until I have examined the data are you to say a word." Even that might be too soon.

"I'm not stupid, Szayel Aporro." One-Eighth's spoke with his usual certainty, but Szayel could sense the undercurrent of fear in him. It was in his stiff shoulders and the firm set to his jaw.

"You'd better not be, or we're both dead. Your father, too. Everyone. There is a time and a place for pride and it is not here. Cast yours aside at the door."

The boy had no reply for that.

Aizen welcomed them from his usual place sitting on his large throne.

"Octava, Uryuu-kun, it is good to see you."

Szayel bowed low and after a smack to the back of his leg, so did One-Eighth.

"I do apologize, Aizen-sama. I'm afraid he still has terrible etiquette."

"There are few beings as tenacious as the Quincy. Do you not find it so?" Aizen's smile both chilled and warmed him. "It's been quite some time, Uryuu-kun. Come closer."

One-Eighth rose and obeyed not just Aizen's command but also Szayel's. Inwardly, he felt a little stab of pride for the boy.

Szayel didn't have time to listen for he soon sensed a presence at his back. Aizen's arms were around him before he could turn to see. Szayel's breath hitched in his throat as those monstrous hands explored his body and undid the zipper on his uniform. Aizen tilted Szayel's head to the side using his own and soon busied himself kissing and then biting the crook of Szayel's neck.

"Aizen-sama..." Szayel's hands shook with the need to touch and his body trembled from the embrace. He looked up just in time to see the illusory Aizen sitting on the throne shatter into the kneeling form of Ishida Ryuuken just in front of it. Uryuu himself stripped and sat down where the illusion had been.

Aizen peeled back Szayel's top and let it fall to the floor before his hands and mouth resumed their exploration.

"Beautiful, are they not?" He tweaked Szayel's nipple and then used those abominable nails of his to score furrows down his side. Szayel could only hiss in pain and pleasure as the blood began to flow. "And so delicate."

Szayel understood something of why Aizen chose him for his bedmate-for there was no love lost here-then. It wasn't just for the humiliation. Aizen, he surmised, had likely been awaiting an opportunity to take him. Szayel played right into his hands with the slaughter of those Numeros.

"Yes," he said, in both submission and understanding. Above all his pride and underneath all his plots, Szayel was a survivor.

Aizen chuckled against his neck as if in acknowledgement of this and began to undo Szayel's hakama.

"Watch," he said, as the garment fluttered to the floor.

Aizen let another part of his illusion drop and Szayel sensed a fifth presence in the room. He looked over to see Kuchiki Byakuya kneeling near them. The Shinigami snapped his head up as if given a command and stared at the sight of Ryuuken raising his hips as he pleasured One-Eighth. Then Byakuya moved forward and tied Ryuuken's hands behind his back. One-Eighth's soft cries rang out through it all. Szayel found he couldn't tear his eyes away from that blushing face.

"Yes," Aizen said, as he placed a similar cuff on Szayel's wrist. The greater measure of his physical strength ebbed away until it reduced Szayel's capacity to pure sensation. As Aizen always intended, he could only _feel_ and _see_ now. Szayel did both, his focus on One-Eighth and other two men in front of him.

It was far from over for him and the others. Aizen balanced Szayel on one leg and held the other high so he could fuck him from behind with tortuously slow strokes that made Szayel's body spasm all over each time. Aizen held him firm with a possessive arm around his chest as he thrust. He scored Szayel again and again with his nails until his torso ran red and a puddle formed around the foot holding him up. All the while, Szayel's cries of pleasure and pain rang out into the room. The three by the throne didn't so much as pause in their ministrations.

It was as raw a display of Aizen's power as he ever witnessed. Yet it was the thought of what was being done to One-Eighth that carried him over the edge despite the certain knowledge that he would suffer for lack of permission given.

Sure enough, Aizen's facade slipped just enough to let Szayel see the god of Hollow underneath. He felt as if he were looking into a dark mirror for the briefest of moments. Then it was gone. Aizen licked his neck. He came soon afterwards and let Szayel drop, boneless, to the floor. Blood and semen pooled around him.

"Beautiful," Aizen said, again. It was not clear to whom he referred until he spoke next. "Bring Uryuu-kun again."

Szayel shuddered. "Yes, Aizen-sama."

"And Octava." Aizen's voice was warm and friendly as always. "Come as you are."

This was the punishment for his body's insubordination. Aizen wouldn't allow him to heal.

"As you wish, Aizen-sama."

The boy was true to his word. He didn't say anything to Szayel when it was all over, not in Aizen's presence and not on the walk back to the lab. He didn't speak or offer to help when Szayel hoisted himself onto the table this time. Aizen was gentle with Szayel this night and he really didn't need any assistance, but he did want to gather the boy's samples so he had him stay. Throughout the process, Szayel noticed a faint blush coloring One-Eighth's face. When it was his turn, he faced away to disrobe.

Neither spoke until the machines took everything and announced the immediate results. Szayel was himself and One-Eighth was, indeed One-Eighth. No trace of Aizen's reiatsu on either. Nothing illusory present.

"You listened." Szayel's voice held a touch of the amazement he felt.

"You're surprised?"

"I'm proud."

Perhaps, just perhaps, the boy would survive.

As a reward, or so he told himself, Szayel decided not to tell One-Eighth who he had actually been with. Humans tended to care about that sort of trivial thing. Szayel understood on an intellectual level even if he couldn't comprehend exactly why they clung to such ridiculous moral tenants. It was just another inferior characteristic as far as he was concerned.

Not that One-Eighth made it an easy reward.

"Why won't you let me see the data?" he asked, on Szayel's third refusal.

"There is no need. I have already reviewed it."

"Let me see, Szayel Aporro."

"No." He continued typing away.

"I want to know what happened." A pause, and then when Szayel didn't immediately acquiesce, "why won't you look at me? Is it because-"

"I'm very busy, One-Eighth, as well you know. Now, stop wasting my time." Szayel did not know for certain, but he suspected who One-Eighth thought his lover was for the night. It certainly wasn't Ishida Ryuuken and there were few other possibilities.

"I have a right to know, Szayel Aporro."

"I have already given you my answer, One-Eighth."

The boy stood, slammed down his hands on the panel, and then stormed off. Very stubborn, indeed. But Szayel still did what needed to be done for his emotional and mental well-being. The boy would be under enough stress as it was. He didn't need this clouding his judgment and reducing their chances of success. They would only get one attempt at this, at least for now. The future of all worlds would be decided in an instant. Szayel took measures against failure, but he would rather not fail in the first place. He had standards, after all.

Szayel returned with One-Eighth the next night, as promised. After the usual treatment, Aizen made him lay down on his massive couch. Szayel found himself with Ishida Ryuuken for company. Or so he thought until Aizen shattered the illusion. Then it was One-Eighth riding him, One-Eighth's breath falling heavy from parted lips. Szayel felt-not love, for that was an inferior emotion he was incapable of experiencing-but a certain kind of wonder and, if he dared, _affection_-stemming from pride and lust, of course. Then One-Eighth spoke his name. Softly. Szayel was surely the only one to hear. One-Eighth's hips didn't falter though it all and from these things it was clear who One-Eighth thought he had been with all along. Him.

One-Eighth didn't say anything about it later, just as he hadn't before. What happened in that room stayed in that room. Szayel considered it another point in One-Eighth's favor that he could separate the rational mind from base, animal lust. Such was a trait Szayel could only attribute to himself and a few others before. His affairs, while passionate, meant nothing to him away from the bedroom. It usually became a problem with his partners, which was why Szayel seldom indulged his body these days. Yet here was someone who appeared to share the same distinction. Szayel was surprised but proud. Yes, One-Eighth was indeed a credit to his species.

This was the silver lining on the dark cloud of Aizen's intentions. No other save him possessed the capacity to determine what exactly their would-be god had planned and it was precisely this that made his current position so risky. Aizen knew Szayel was a threat to him. Why else would he attempt to gain an advantage over him in such a base manner? Schemes within schemes, but Szayel felt he saw through them all to Aizen's true motive. The truly terrifying part was that until this realization he had been playing right into Aizen's hands. Szayel might still be even now.

He took to spending much time in his private lab-the one to which he still denied all others admittance. This was a problem only Szayel could solve. Any interference from other parties would jeopardize the whole operation. He couldn't have that.

Szayel was returning from another solid seventeen hours of progress on the dilemma when One-Eighth accosted him in the hallway. The two seldom saw each other these days aside from their joint nightly forays into sexual decadence under Aizen's guidance, yet there was little awkwardness in their working relationship. It was only when One-Eighth questioned him about his solitude that it appeared. He had taken to doing so lately, but Szayel could tell by the boy's expression that this wasn't the topic of concern right now.

One-Eighth's hands balled into fists and he would not meet Szayel's eye.

"I understand now," he said, when Szayel finally prompted him to speak. "Why you wouldn't show me."

One-Eighth continued before he could reply, his words coming out in a rush.

"You were protecting me." He finally met Szayel's gaze and there was a touch of wonder and uncertainty there to match his tone and the flush creeping along his cheeks.

"Who were you with?" Szayel asked the question because there was no need for him to rehash the obvious. With anyone else, he would have to spell the whole thing out using words simple enough for inferior minds to understand. Not so, here.

"You. I'm always with you." One-Eighth's tone conveyed the proper gratitude Szayel expected from bestowing such a gift on him. Yet Szayel didn't feel any of his usual superiority at this. Instead, there was only an odd sense of discomfort.

"Then all is as it should be," he said, instead of chiding the boy for attempting to subvert his authority.

For once, One-Eighth didn't disagree. This made Szayel even more uncomfortable though he didn't know why.

Later, Aizen abused him much more than usual. Bloody furrows covered his body, and there was a section on his back where he'd peeled the skin away to hang limp and raw. It flapped as he staggered down the hallway to his area. Szayel didn't much care about all these things. What concerned him was the possibility of others seeing his perfect body in such a reduced state. It would be the worst kind of show, a never-ending bad joke.

Szayel suppressed his reiatsu and somehow made it without enduring that kind of indignity. However, he was not spared One-Eighth's attention. The one time he didn't want it. Of course.

The hands that touched him weren't completely clinical, but he ignored this. They were familiar enough with each other now and it couldn't be helped. If he hadn't come so recently he might have become aroused now.

"You can't keep letting him do this to you," One-Eighth said, as he gently folded Szayel's hanging skin back into place. "No matter the reason."

"Soon," was all Szayel said in response.

It was not to be.

The very next night, Aizen called just for One-Eighth. Szayel let him go only after administering an extra dose of his healing, spectral parasites.

"I'll be just fine, Szayel Aporro," One-Eighth said before leaving.

He wasn't.

One-Eighth left whole and healthy and returned a red ruin of his former self. That he managed to stand at all despite missing most of his skin, an ear, a hand, and with numerous broken bones was only because he had used ransoutengai on himself.

Szayel's blood froze in his veins. For a moment, he could do nothing but stare in horror, and then his tablet clattered to the floor as he rushed to catch the boy. A terrible dread took hold of him, far stronger than anything he'd ever felt before.

"Prepare the healing tank, immediately," he screeched at his nearest Fraccion.

It scurried into action as he cradled One-Eighth's broken, raw body. The boy managed to croak out most of Szayel's name before passing out.

With his pristine white uniform rapidly turning pink, Szayel raced after his Fraccion. He didn't understand why his healing parasites weren't working and hated that fact. But more than that, what really sent his heart hammering was the possibility that his failure might result in One-Eighth's death.

Szayel pushed this terrible thought aside as he immersed the boy in the green liquid of the intensive healing tank. He barked out orders to his Fraccion and kept a constant eye on One-Eighth's vitals.

They should have improved by now, but instead were sinking even swifter than before.

Szayel began to sweat. He ran one scan and then another before he finally understood what was wrong. All varieties of spectral parasites had turned against their host. They behaved like a virus and attacked already damaged tissues instead of healing them. The liquid in the healing vat only exacerbated the problem.

Szayel plunged his arms in and scooped One-Eighth out before he could get any worse. He laid the boy on a nearby table and screamed for his dialyfusion equipment. Szayel patted One-Eighth dry with sterile cloths while he waited. Never for a moment did he allow any thoughts but those of success to enter his mind.

The machine came and for a moment Szayel was at a loss about how to hook it up to such destroyed flesh. It took him precious minutes to find a vein and longer yet to safely complete the task. Szayel left and came quickly back with several bags of One-Eighth's untainted blood and soon the machine began the dialyfusion. He programmed it for complete removal. It took out One-Eighth's tainted blood and pumped fresh blood into his system. His vitals began to improve right away. The entire process took several hours and, in truth, much more blood than for a simple transfusion. By the time it was done, One-Eighth's vitals stabilized.

Szayel didn't rest even then. He sent some of the tainted blood out for analysis earlier and now analyzed the results. It seemed this breakdown of his spectral parasites was not by chance. Someone deliberately repurposed them.

Szayel's hands shook and he balled them into fists. Given that this was the case, he couldn't use any of his more effective treatments on the boy as they all employed a version of his parasites or elements that could be used by them. Szayel wasn't about to take any chances with One-Eighth's life.

He had only been concerned with that before, but now thought of the boy's comfort. This would be a long, slow process. Szayel gritted his teeth when he thought of how much pain One-Eighth would have to endure. Still, things could have been much worse. It was some stroke of good fortune that Szayel already possessed One-Eighth's almost-fully-grown clone. This wouldn't make the recovery any easier, but at least he could graft on the clone's skin and prevent the infection of One-Eighth's grievous wounds.

Szayel administered the highest level analgesic he dared and set to work. In total, it took fourteen precious hours. When he was finished, One-Eighth almost looked like himself, albeit missing a hand and an ear.

Rather than admit defeat or exhaustion, Szayel stilled his shaking limbs by consuming several Fraccion. He released Fornicaras and made ten different clones of himself to help facilitate his research. Szayel placed One-Eighth in an artificial coma and left him in his intensive care pod with several more clones.

The boy's recovery was slow. It took days before Szayel dared to regrow his hand and ear and to perfect the skin grafts so that One-Eighth's body was like new. It was even longer before Szayel felt safe enough in waking him.

Blue eyes blinked open and he whispered something. Szayel leaned in closer to hear and blanched at what he heard.

"Fa…ther?"

"It's Szayel Aporro, One-Eighth. _Szayel Aporro_," he said, after a pause.

The boy looked at him with those uncomprehending blue eyes and spoke the appellation again before asking where he was.

"Rest now." Szayel's stomach twisted. He brushed black hair from the boy's face. "You'll feel better soon."

The boy nodded, his eyes tired. Soon, he slept once more.

Szayel left him but lingered just outside. His hand remained on the doorknob even as he leaned back against the door. He saved the body, but what about that glorious mind?

For the first time since One-Eighth's stumbling return, Szayel allowed himself to contemplate the cause of all this. _Aizen_.

His hands balled into fists and he strode away with renewed purpose.

Days turned into weeks and Aizen recalled Szayel to his sexual servitude. The man even had the nerve to act as if everything was normal and to even inquire about One-Eighth's health. It made Szayel even more determined to end him. He now spent all his time not devoted to One-Eighth's mental and physical recovery in his private laboratory.

Aizen could manipulate his spectral parasites, which meant all the data he had collected was useless. Moreover, there was no telling how much the god of Hollow knew about what Szayel had been doing as he now had no certainty regarding what or who had been illusions in the past. It could be that Aizen's knowledge was more immediate, but Szayel wasn't about to depend upon ambiguity. Until One-Eighth regained his mental facilities, there was no way of telling what had truly happened that night.

It was a delicate and treacherous game they played, but play it Szayel did.

Long, slow months later and Szayel became convinced Aizen had done much more than flay the boy and tamper with his healing and spectral parasites. One-Eighth didn't remember his true name and he still thought of Szayel as a sort of paternal figure and acted in a very immature manner. While this filled Szayel with all sorts of conflicting emotions, what he most wanted was the old One-Eighth back. He would do almost anything for that purpose. Even directly defy Aizen. Not at any real risk to himself, of course. Yet he would still put everything on the line for the purpose.

Szayel waited and plotted and gathered until finally he was ready.

It was easier than expected to drug the human girl and steal her away from her captor.

"Where am-" she started to ask, before she saw One-Eighth strapped down to a nearby table and peacefully sleeping. "Ishida-kun…what have you done to him?" Her soft face hardened at the question.

"Mere sedation. The same as with yourself." Szayel smiled. "And before you waste my time with further questions: I brought you here to assist me. With what, you ask? Exactly this. I was able to heal his body, but the mind is another matter. Not even I can bring back what was lost. That will be up to you, assuming you value your friend's mental wellbeing."

The girl pursed her lips and stared. Szayel wasn't sure if she wanted to cry or kill him. Probably both, on some level.

"Did you do this to him?" she finally asked.

"You think I would purposely-no, I can understand your concern," Szayel changed his tone when he considered how he treated the rest of his Fraccion. "I would never hurt him." He said the last quietly, almost grudgingly.

The girl considered him for such a long moment that he felt the old irritation boiling beneath his skin.

"I believe you."

She summoned her ability and went to work, never seeming to consider the fact that Szayel might be analyzing her and taking stock of her powers. He wondered how much Ulquiorra told her about him. Probably just enough.

Szayel hovered just outside the area of rejection. He hardly dared to breathe, much less move. This was the power that surpassed all others and surely-_surely_ it would work on One-Eighth. Still, there was no telling what else Aizen might have planned. He might have analyzed and nullified the girl's ability to affect One-Eighth. The terrible thought made him freeze. Szayel's heart thudded in his chest and a bead of sweat rolled down his neck. He held his breath.

And then it was over. The awful moment passed. The girl's powers receded and One-Eighth stirred. His eyes opened and locked on to Szayel first.

"Szayel Aporro, what are you doing?" He wiggled in his bonds and then noticed the girl.

One-Eighth _blushed_ and Szayel felt a steel trap spring shut around his petrified, almost nonexistent heart.

"Inoue-san…" It came out as a whisper but was much louder and more painful to Szayel's hearing.

"Come, come," he said, before their little reunion could progress any further. "There is much to be done. You-" and here he pointed to the girl, "will go with my Fraccion and wait." Szayel cut One-Eighth off before he could speak. "Not a word, One-Eighth. You will join her shortly."

Szayel ushered out the girl without further preamble. It was only then that he allowed the tension to drain from his shoulders and the breath from his lungs.

"Szayel Aporro?"

He straightened and looked at One-Eighth.

"Yes?"

"Are you ever going to let me out of these restraints?"

Szayel couldn't help but laugh. It was so very like One-Eighth to say something like that. He lifted his Hollow mask and covered his eyes, wiped his face.

"Yes, of course. Right after you tell me what happened."

"Isn't that my line?" came the immediate retort. Szayel would normally have suffered from a vague irritation at this. Now, his petrified heart swelled.

"You don't remember anything, do you?" He expected as much, of course. Yet he hoped for more.

"Was that part of the experiment?"

Szayel paused and then smiled. "You can review the data for yourself later." He handed One-Eighth a microchip in a protective container before undoing the restraints. "Take care you don't lose this, hmm? It's important."

He handed One-Eighth a black orb with a single red button on top and told him to keep it and to wait.

"Trust me," he said.

"Have I ever?" One-Eighth replied, but he was smirking and his eyes were soft.

Szayel waved him off to go join the girl. In a little while, he set off a few explosions around Las Noches and waited.

.

Uryuu pocketed the microchip and the mysterious black orb and resolved himself to deal with them later. He could hardly concentrate just knowing that Inoue was here-that he could see her and actually talk to her for the first time in years. He didn't know what went wrong with Szayel Aporro's last experiment, but he was glad for this chance.

Uryuu found her in one of Szayel's most secure storerooms amidst boxes and specimen containers. They were deep in conversation when the first explosion went off. Warning lights flashed and the doors slid shut, trapping them inside.

Uryuu's heart and fists pounded.

"What's happening out there, Szayel Aporro?"

The words were barely out of his mouth when one of the screens flickered on. There was Szayel Aporro at his central command.

"That's my concern. Just make sure you hold on to the microchip, Uryuu."

It was the use of his name more than anything else that stilled his questions and froze his heart. Uryuu's hand rose to his neck and he found it free of the Fraccion mark Szayel Aporro gave him so long ago. His entire body felt heavy, but most of all his stomach and heart.

"Always wear the collar," Szayel continued as if everything was normal. "He won't be able to find you with that on. Or you, girl. Take off the bracelet and put on the one in your pocket."

Uryuu spared Inoue a glance and saw her pat the bulge in her dress and then fish out a matching white band.

"What are you thinking? You can't just do what you like, Szayel Aporro. He'll know and-"

"Not your concern." Szayel's smile was starting to seem forced to Uryuu, who knew him so well. "The device I gave you is an artificial gargantua. See that you use it. Soon. Now."

Uryuu's heart tried to leap from his ribcage. He trembled. For one wild moment, he almost pressed the button. Then he stopped, his mouth a grim line.

"Come with us, Szayel Aporro."

Uryuu never got an answer, for a second later a sword pierced the Octava Espada's heart from behind.

Uryuu screamed his name.

"Do it, now," Szayel said, as he gripped the bloody sword.

Uryuu paled and swallowed. His vision blurred and his glasses fogged, but with Inoue tugging on his arm he knew what he had to do.

Uryuu pressed the button and both he and Inoue stepped through the gargantua to freedom, with Uryuu thinking he would come back for the rest if they could just _hold on_.

.

Aizen watched the two escape on the monitor before pulling Kyouka Suigetsu out of the Octava's back and then swinging the zanpakutou through the air to clean it of his blood.

"Ulquiorra…" Red foamed around the man's lips. It wouldn't be long now. "I never would have thought…"

Aizen shattered the illusion and the Arrancar's eyes widened.

"I came to thank you in person, Szayel Aporro Granz. You always were the most dangerous of my Espada."

"Oh, it's an _honor_. Or it will be," the Octava said, and chuckled. It was his last. The body soon dropped on the control panel in front of it. Aizen ignored the spores now populating the air. He had already nullified the Octava's latest regenerative tactic and thus rendered his final threat meaningless.

Szayel Aporro Granz was no match for him. But that had never been the point of their game. It was almost a shame it was all over now, but the man served his purpose. Urahara would have his hands on that faulty data soon and assume he had an advantage over him.

Aizen's smile was as bleak as the sun as he pushed the Octava's body aside and sat down in his former seat.

.

A big thank you to Jules for betaing the vast majority of _Modus II_ and giving me valuable feedback about Uryuu.

Any and all mistakes are my own. To be quite honest, I'm not sure it's as good as the original. I tried so hard to keep these two IC and give them feels for each other. I'm still not sure it worked. Things went much better in my head, but then they usually do.

The part of me channeling Aizen isn't sorry at all for the cliffhanger but the rest of me is. A fair warning-considering the fact it took me almost a year to write this piece, I wouldn't expect the next (hopefully) thrilling installment until 2014. _Modus Operandi of a Mad Scientist_ is coming though and I will be working on it as hard as I can. Promises. Idk about writing Aizen and Ichigo though...it will be the hardest of the three for sure. _That_ romance and wrapping the others up, whew!_  
_

Thanks for reading! I hope you'll tell me your thoughts, good or bad, to help me improve.


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